


Suffocation

by malehead (cephalopop)



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cephalopop/pseuds/malehead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's cold in the West Block, and Nezumi has nightmares. But he's used to them, and it's not a big deal. General spoilers for the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suffocation

Nezumi knew it was a dream.

The dream was familiar, almost comforting. He was twelve and his entire body was battered and bruised and sick with exhaustion. He was standing at the bottom of the pile and it moved, tenderly, like a single entity, a fleshy monster whimpering out its dying breaths. He stood at its base and tried to catch his breath. Then, suddenly, the beast surged forward, and its thousands of arms began reaching towards him, and its dying breaths turned to dying howls and shrieks and moans and wails blending together into a horrific cacophony, and he tried to put his hands over his ears but the beast was too close and it grabbed him, hands pulling at his limbs and clothes and hugging him close like a beloved child, like the fingers could reach into his chest and retrieve the life there, and the stench-- the stench-- then another arm found him. It wasn't an arm of the beast, but it came from behind and wrapped around him. It was narrow and warm. "Nezumi?" he heard, faintly, like he was being called from above ground. _Shion,_ he tried to say, but the dead arms pressed against his throat.

"Nezumi?"

He blinked awake.

The beast was gone. Nezumi was sweating.

"S'just a dream," Shion murmured from behind him.

Usually they slept back-to-back in Nezumi's bed, their bare spines aligned beneath the ratty blankets. It kept them warm, and Nezumi did not have to see Shion's features smooth into childish calm. Now, Shion's chest was pressed to Nezumi's back, and his arm was looped around Nezumi's waist.

"Shion, let go," Nezumi said.

Shion exhaled against the base of Nezumi's neck. The breath was hot and damp and soaked through his skin and into his bones and traveled deep to the center of his chest. The knot there loosened, just a little. "No," Shion murmured. "You were kicking a lot. Now you're not."

Nezumi closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids he saw the bodies towering. In darkness his mind had retreated to that familiar horror, pulling at the scar that barely covered the wound made four years ago. He wasn't afraid. That dream meant there were no new wounds. Life in the basement was so dull that his dreams returned to those same familiar places.

"Kicking is not an invitation to cuddle," Nezumi muttered. "Pretty sure it's the opposite, actually."

Shion hummed against his skin. Nezumi shivered.

"You were yelling, too," Shion said.

"Sorry I woke you," Nezumi said flatly.

"Hm. Not really yelling," Shion continued. He was still flush against Nezumi's back, his arm draped over Nezumi's waist, his hand pressed against Nezumi's pounding heart. "Talking. But I couldn't understand anything."

Nezumi said nothing. He tried to remain perfectly still. He tried to calm his heart.

"You didn't sound happy, though," Shion said quietly. The air in the room was cold. Nezumi felt Shion press his lips together, then release them. "What were you dreaming about?"

With a huff Nezumi wrenched out of Shion's grip and turned to face him. "How about you sleep on the floor. Then I won't be able to kick you."

Shion pulled his own hands to his chest and looked at his knuckles. "It's worked before," he said.

"What?"

"When you kick and talk and such. When I, um, when I hold you, it stops. Usually you don't wake up."

Nezumi felt hotter and he knew his cheeks were flushing. He hoped Shion couldn't see in the dark. That was just like Shion. Any normal person would've just kicked Nezumi back, or pushed him off the bed and onto the floor.

"Well, I did," Nezumi said, because biting retorts died on his tongue. The narrow, warm arm was a new addition to the dream, as was the calling of his name. The beast didn't absorb and suffocate him anymore.

"I'm sorry," Shion said. "I shouldn't invade your space like that."

"Stop apologizing for everything."

"You're warm, too," Shion continued. He reached out, slowly, like he was reaching towards a mug that might be too hot to grasp. He tangled his fingers with Nezumi's. "It's warmer that way."

Nezumi let Shion lace their fingers together. Lying on their sides like this, face-to-face, he felt like they were twelve again, and he had almost bled out, and the bed was much bigger. "You idiot."

Shion's frown deepened.

"Sorry I woke you," Nezumi said again. "I don't remember what I dreamed about. My brain has lots of go-tos. They blur together."

Shion looked up and his frown shifted subtly, from his self-loathing one to his concerned one.

"I'm saying it's fine," Nezumi said. He pulled his hand away from Shion's and shifted closer to him on the bed. He slid one arm beneath Shion's pillow and draped the other over Shion's waist. Shion shifted too, into the space Nezumi created for him. Shion tucked his head under Nezumi's chin and his fingers touched his chest.

"Oh," Shion said. "Okay."

Shion was trying to protect him. Shion drew him out of his nightmares and soothed him and never said a word about it the next day. And Nezumi had no idea how often this happened, and didn't know how to ask.

Shion sighed and his breath was trapped in the space between them so Nezumi knew the demons didn't have a chance. Shion's lips pressed gently against Nezumi's collarbone.

Nezumi flattened his palm against Shion's back and felt the slow rise and fall of his breathing. _We're going to die,_ he thought as they clung to each other. He pressed his nose into Shion's white feathery hair. It smelled like the air before a hurricane.

**Author's Note:**

> This series reminded me of someone I loved a lot when I was sixteen, and I had forgotten about the intensity of teenage emotion, and I think the novels especially capture that really well. Good stuff. Writing these two makes me feel raw. Thank you for reading.


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